I read a story the other day called "A Sparrow for General Jeb". The gist of the story being a dialog this 50 year old man was having with himself as a boy of 12 and a man of 50. This debate he was having with himself was about whether he should or should not shoot a sparrow his pup had pointed while on a walk with a pellet rifle he was toting along, introducing his pup to a gun. The pup of course was "General Jeb". The boy in him won out and he shot the sparrow. The result being Jeb retrieved it straight to him. Good boy Jeb!
The rest of the story entailed the remorse he experienced in having committed the felonious act and a philosophic rehashing of the "I ain't gonna kill it if I ain't gonna eat it" debate. It made me think of the time I shot what turned out to be my brother's father-in-laws favorite barn cat.... I had hung it in a tree so the dogs would leave it alone and while on a family Thanksgiving Day quail hunt, Wilbur, my brother's father-in-law, walked right up to it and recognized his favorite cat. According to Wilbur who ever had killed his favorite cat had ought to have had to eat it... Or something to that effect. I opted to withhold the information that the dogs were doing just that before I hung it in the tree. I almost mentioned that cats eat more quail than hunters do, but his frame of mind spelled debate so I opted to keep that bit of information to myself too.
Well, I don't walk pups carrying a pellet rifle but we did have many great sparrow hunt when we were kids. The fact is, nothing was entirely safe from us and our Daisy "Red Rider" BB guns. Of course that was before anyone knew that it was against the law to shoot a song-bird. It is one of those situations where something is "askew", as it seems to me that I remember there used to be a lot more birds then than there are now. Anyhow, I suppose I would have to accredit this ingrained character trait of pursuing birds to the "life of crime" I led as a child. Daisy has sure enough sold a lot of BB guns and I can't hardly believe that me and Jeb's owner are in this fraternity all alone. Now we hunt pheasant and while the unconfessed closet sparrow shooter hides behind the love of dog work and goes to watch the dogs..... we open, brazen, malevolent go to shoot the birds. You can always spot us because as far as we're concerned there would be only roosters.....no hens. I have yet to hear anyone holler...."All right Bob! Bad shot, you sure did miss him!" or at the sound of a shot the resounding "Did you miss him?" or when a Rooster gets up," It could of been a hen"...

Grandpa has made sure no one got to beat him in being the first to bestow upon his grandson his first shotgun. There is a brand new satin finish 1100, 20 gauge with a 26 inch barrel hanging in a gun case waiting on Daniel, who has just now turned three. He has an official Daisy pop gun and just as soon as he learns to quit shooting people with it he can fill in the gap with a Daisy "Red Rider". Genetics are a wonderful thing but there is much to be said for sparrows and Daisy BB guns. I can hear myself now, "Good shot son!"... and should he be arrested I'll just have to post bond. Maybe our illustrious president could evoke his presidential privilege to remove the ban on kids shooting sparrows with BB guns and open season on errant barn cats. He could go down in history as the president who restored common sense to government with one stroke of the pen .....